What Doesn't Kill You
by Jimmy Candlestick
Summary: Placed after "Drop Zone." Robin's frustration with his easy defeat to Kobra leads him to questions, that, he simply doesn't have the answer to. Luckily for him, He's got Batman and Alfred with ready wisdom. One-shot.


**Once upon a time, cartoonnetwork was soley for cartoons. And then, they began making live-action shows. How does this make me feel? **

**Anyways...this little buddie's been hangin' out since the episode "Drope Zone." Just so's you know, that's when it takes place. Please, enjoy!**

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He hit the Batcave's programmed bot again, harder. His punches and kicks were getting faster, but, Robin knew, they wouldn't be that fast for long.

Leaping into the air, he swung around and hit the bot with his heel. A light pain interrupted his landing, making it slightly awkward, his hand reaching for his ribs.

"You didn't break them again, did you?" Batman's gravelly tone said, the man suddenly appearing.

Robin turned to smile, if only slightly. "No, just bruised this time."

Batman walked quietly over to the computer. "Level five. You usually just train with a level four."

Robin shrugged. "Yeah, well, Koby made an appearance and whooped my tail." He sighed. "Why do people like to step on my chest? What does that accomplish?"

"Besides your pain?" There was a slight smile on Batman's face as he said this.

Robin mock-glared. "You don't mean that you _like_ them causing me pain, do you? That's child abuse. Of sorts."

Batman didn't bother to answer, instead approaching the computer itself, upping the level by one, in addition to typing in a few other commands, and taking his stand no more than six feet away from the sparring robot. Robin retreated to a nearby ledge, grinning in anticipation. While the Batman was most entertaining to watch in combat when fighting an actual villain, but the bots were great, too.

The two stared at each other, the Dark Knight motionless and silent, the bot, also motionless, whirring noises heard as it "studied" its opponent.

Robin knew how this game was played. The one waited for the other. Depending on how Batman had programmed the bot, one of them went first. Robin had once watched (sort of, he had gotten bored) them stand like that for five minutes.

Finally, Batman moved. He darted forward, swinging his right fist before suddenly dodging to the left and bringing up his leg, kicking the bot in the torso. The bot had been busy blocking the feinted punch and didn't react in time to the kick.

Robin couldn't help but slouch a bit in disappointment. It's not that he wanted Batman to lose to a bot – he didn't want Batman to lose to anyone – but he was a _little _annoyed with the fact that Batman beat a bot a two levels higher than he ever fought with, and even with a few more adjustments.

Alighting from the rocky ledge, he walked over to the dimly lit training area – because they did most of their work at night anyways, why not train that way? - his mouth open to attempt a clever remark to hide his...annoyance.

"What's wrong?" Batman spoke before he could.

Robin smiled in response. "What do you mean?"

Batman gave him _the look_, tilting his head, raising an eyebrow.

Robin sighed, taking off his mask, revealing his bright blue eyes. "I dunno...I guess," He sighed again, running a hand through his dark hair. "I guess I'm frustrated with how easily he blocked me. Every. Single. Move. It was like he read my mind."

He followed Batman as the man turned off the program, sending the bot back to the center of the ring, completely turning off the lights in that area of the cave. Batman didn't say anything, either, as they walked toward the main area of the cave, which housed, primarily, their main computer.

"He's had far more training than you have, and even more than I have." Batman slid off his own cowl as he said this. He turned his rich dark eyes down to Dick. "You don't need to feel too bad."

Dick shrugged off the hand Bruce had laid on his shoulder. "But what happens, when next time, because I'm not good enough, he kills me – or worse, one of my teammates?"

For a moment, they stopped and looked at one another. Dick's worry was shining through brightly, and Bruce found, much to his discomfort, that he felt some worry as well. But, he hid it, much better than his young ward. "Why are you so worried, Dick?"

"Because!" The teenager whirled away. Emotions...they were so hard to talk about. "Just because."

Bruce continued on to the computer. "Because why, Dick. There's a reason you're so frustrated. I know that your concern," he turned to face him. "is legitimate – I struggle with it, too."

At this, Dick looked a little surprised. He hopped onto a table nearby and waited for Bruce to finish.

"I know that I can't hold up against everyone, that's why I have teammates. And I know that my teammates have weaknesses-"

"Duh," Dick interrupted. "You've got them all cataloged on there." He waved a hand toward the massive computer.

Bruce ignored the interruption. "So, yes, I get it. And I try to remain at my best for them, myself, and you," he said pointedly, sobering Dick up even more. "But you're training too hard, too fast."

Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So why are you so worried?"

Blue eyes flicked up for a second, before going back to the ground. "It sounds stupid."

"Then it ought to be addressed, so you can learn."

Dick sighed, pulling his legs up, wincing slightly. "I guess..." he glanced at Bruce studiously. "I guess I wanna know why I'm not stronger."

It was Bruce's turn to be surprised. "Stronger?"

"Yeah, you know. Like, that saying, 'what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.' Do you realize how many times I've almost been killed? Yet, I'm not stronger than before."

As he was saying this, the elevator door swished open, revealing Alfred with a tray of tea for Bruce, and milk and cookies for Dick. "Of course he knows how many times you've almost been killed, Master Richard. He keeps count."

Bruce turned to glare at the butler. "I do not keep count."

Alfred simply glanced back, his eyes telling exactly what he thought.

Dick laughed at the exchange, biting into his cookie. It was alright, he had a vague count of how many times Bruce had almost died, himself. He couldn't help it. Losing his parents was hard, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing Bruce, too.

"Why do you need to be stronger, Master Richard?" Alfred asked, standing beside Bruce, who was also looking at him curiously.

"I just..." Dick paused, uncomfortable, again. "You know what, never mind. It was stupid."

Bruce smiled kindly. "It wasn't stupid. You're young, and everyone tends to believe that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Though it is entirely false," Alfred said definitively.

Dick nodded, taking another bite of the cookie.

"It simply makes you better."

Dick looked quizzically at the butler. "What do you mean?"

Alfred motioned for Bruce to reply. "It means that you learn from the mistakes you made. Did you know that my suit wasn't originally lined with Kevlar?"

"Wasn't it, though?"

"No," Alfred said, "he decided to get shot, first."

Despite himself, Dick laughed. Well, snorted, really.

"It wasn't terribly funny, Master Richard. I had to dig the bullet out." Alfred raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"I know!" Dick claimed. "It was just funny how you put it."

Alfred's demeanor softened a bit, and he returned a smile, however slight.

Bruce leaned back. "The bullet, obviously, didn't kill me."

"But it made you better," Dick said, pointing, a grin showing up.

"Exactly. Because of that bullet, I learned that I had to protect myself somehow. So, I made improvements to the suit, and my dodging skills." Bruce smiled.

Dick took a drink. "The point here being, I can't expect to simply be stronger, but I can expect to learn from my mistakes."

Bruce nodded. "That would be correct."

"Okay." Dick soaked it in. "Well," he said slowly. "That's good to know."

Bruce laughed before getting to work on the computer. He was pulling up files on Sportsmaster, trying to find out just why the villain was after the drug.

Dick slipped off the table and headed to his room, his mind already going through what he didn't quite do right, and how he could improve. With a smile, he decided that it was much easier knowing that he didn't _have _to be stronger to win. Though, that would be a bonus.

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**You would not believe what a review alert in my inbox does to my day. :) - Jimmy C.**


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